


Comic-Con’s Got Nothing On This

by TheJoysOfAMultishipper (Amemah)



Series: Farcy happened. I don't know. They are very cute. [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Jason Bourne Is Not The Enemy, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 15:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2657498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amemah/pseuds/TheJoysOfAMultishipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint was really looking forward to the next time he met Darcy Lewis, as he was learning so much about his boss whenever she was involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comic-Con’s Got Nothing On This

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK! MY FARCY-MUSE KINDA STOPPED BY AND WRITING HAPPENED! ARE YOU HAPPY?! I AM. Look at these cuties, getting shot 'n stuff. 
> 
> \- I reserve the right to edit mistakes as I discover them, but it shouldn't be too many.
> 
> So if you want to, you can read this as part of CA: TWS, but I didn't write it as that, so y'know. Do what you want. It kinda fits, but it definitely doesn't. Don't blame me, when my muse just "kinda" stops by, you should be happy i haven't torn my hair out in frustration. Seriously, this is as good as it gets.
> 
> And I don't mind you pointing out grammatical errors or stuff like that. Just be nice about it, my ego is more fragile than Tony Stark's, kay? Hah, that's just a joke. You should be nice about it because it's what Steve Rogers would do. And do you want Steve Rogers to be disappointed in you? No, you do not. Because then Bucky will be disappointed in you by default, and Bucky doesn't have time for that shit. Bucky has to recover and go to his therapy-sessions, because HYDRA sucks ass. Which brings us back to this story. Kinda. (I'm having way too much fun with these notes, I'll stop.)
> 
> \---IMPORTANT: There is a one-sentence description of brain matter near the end. It's not that graphic, don't worry. If you can deal with sex-ed and the reality of menstruation, you should be good. (But then again, apparently American sex-ed is seriously shit? Tread cautiously, and wrap it before you tap it, kids!) 
> 
> Uhm, let me know what you think?  
> Tumblr: amemah.tumblr.com
> 
> Kyss og kos og klem :)

“Go to Vegas, Darcy!” She muttered, flinching when another ray of bullets hit the windshield. She sent a quick prayer to whoever created FitzSimmons when it held.

“Get drunk, Darcy,” She continued, peeking through her fingers at Nicholas, glad to see he was still alive. She was uncomfortably invested in his continued state of survival, and it was proving to be a problem, considering he was the Director of SHIELD and this was a Tuesday and they were getting shot at. Fuckers couldn’t even wait until the weekend; she has _work,_ damnit.

“Have sex with the hottest guy you see, Darcy,” Her voice was reaching epic levels of pithiness, which was further proved by the dirty look Nicholas sent her. He cut her off before she could continue, not caring for the recap of their shared life so far. Yes, it was _so far_ , as he wasn’t planning on letting them die now – or ever. Eh, what’s a little bit of delusion now and then, right?

 

“Up until today, you haven’t really regretted that, have you?” He said briskly, swerving the car to the side, cutting of a few police cars. Their sirens sounded pitiful, much like the chances of Darcy’s continued survival.

“No, but to be fair, I really can’t be blamed for that!” Darcy shrieked, steering her hands on the dashboard as the car stopped abruptly, before starting just as quickly. Damnit, can’t they teach _sane_ driving in spy-school?

“You’re not really the most graceful driver, sweetheart,” She laughed, not noting the hysterical edge to her voice. Or ignoring it. Yeah, ignoring it.

“Yeah? Think you can do better?” Nicholas hand shot out to the side, pushing her further down into the seat as three bullets finally managed to pierce the glass. There was definitely blood on his shoulder.

“You’re shot. Jesus fuck, you’re shot. How the hell are we supposed to make it to Thanksgiving-dinner if _you’re shot_?!” This time Darcy wasn’t able to ignore the hysteria in her tone, but she managed to inch her way up again, careful to keep herself as shielded form the bullets as possible. She found the button on the side of Nicholas’ seat that made her able to drop the back down, wincing when she heard his breath catching. Right, he was shot. Asshole. She was supposed to be making apple-pie, Darcy doesn’t have time for this!

 

“What are you doing?” He managed to sound much less hysterical when he yelled, which Darcy found unfair. As Darcy pondered the pros and cons of more training regarding high-pressure-situations, Nick took out his gun and shot at the three men exciting the police cars, all dressed in uniform. They were too loose fitting to be genuine, and Darcy couldn’t help but send a quick ‘thank you’ to whoever was listening. She really had no interest in killing any cops today, dirty or not.

 

“Relax, I saw it in a Jason Bourne-movie!” Darcy answered, motioning for Nicholas to scoot back, effectively worming her way between the seats and taking his place behind the wheel.

“David Webb’s got nothing on me,” Darcy cackled, deciding to embrace the crazy. Really, it’s all they could do. That, and hope the windows holds until backup gets there.

“Not only is he a _fictional goddamn character_ , he’s _CIA_!”

“You need to get over the inter-agency dick-measuring contest, honey! It’s supremely unattractive!” Her voice was back to normal pitch again, easily slipping back into the familiar banter. Darcy decided she could handle stress, she tased an æsir, for fuck’s sake.

“And also, I’d just like to tell you the reason you’re in this position right now – “

“That conversation was three bullet-cycles back!”

“ – is because you tased Thor, it’s only like 75 percent my fault. And stop _channeling Olivia Pope_ ,”

“ _Excuse me?_ Who was it that begged me to come work for SHIELD? And you just be glad I’m not _channeling_ Allison Argent and her justifiable murder-face!” Darcy wove through traffic, pleased to note there hadn’t been any new bullets hitting them in the past 9 seconds. The civilians were getting out of their way, by now more than accustomed to the black SUVs of SHIELD. Yeah, they had a publicity problem, especially considering it was a _secret_ agency.

 

“There was no begging, I do not _beg_. And don’t you dare bring the Argent-princess into this!”

“You asked me while you were eating me out, you _knew_ I would say yes to anything at that point. And Allison needs to apologize to Derek before I’m ready to forgive her!” In the mirror she could see a shit-eating grin on Nicholas’ face, some pride thrown in for good measure. Asshole. (She didn’t know whether he was happy because of his cunnilingus-skills or because he had diverted her attention from the life-threatening and insane. Sometimes it was very difficult sharing a life with Nick.)

 

“Whatever. What’s your plan here, anyway? Getting shot by a Russian kill-for-hire, then run of a non-existent bridge?”

“Please, do I look like a Marie to you? No, get down behind the passenger-seat, and stay. When I crash the car, you get out and shoot everything. I’ll stay behind the bulletproof glass and try my best not to hyperventilate,” Darcy would be forever thankful to Coulson for teaching her how to do the voice-thing that made her sound like she knew what she was doing. She totally didn’t know what she was doing.

 

“Sound good!” Nicholas answered, slipping down behind the seat as per instructed. Personally, Darcy thought he sounded way to cheerful for someone driving to his certain death.

“ _First responders three minutes out._ ” The car informed them, a touchscreen showing the progress of Captain America and Falcon. Darcy was one hundred percent sure the reason they were arriving at the same time was because they were doing the do. Fricking the frack. They were having sex. Black Widow was a few blocks behind them, Hawkeye’s name right next to hers. Apparently, the underground world had a thing for the animal kingdom.

“Okay. Ready?” Darcy asked, taking a deep breath.

“Ready,” Nicholas answered, and at his decisive voice, Darcy hit the gas.

 

Her back straightened as she clenched the wheel tightly, a glance in the rearview mirror showing her the police cars gaining on them. There was at least six, maybe seven, of them; all driving in formation, and – _of course_ \- it was one that would surround them once they stopped.

“I should probably let you know I forgive you for knocking me up!”

“That was just as much your fault as it was mine!”

Darcy grinned, letting go of the wheel. She knew the crash wouldn’t kill her, she made sure to calculate the correct speed for that, but there was still something absolutely heart-shatteringly terrifying about driving into a lamppost like that. Or maybe it was all the people wanting to kill her. Either way, the airbag released, protecting her from the hard metal of the steering wheel. She groaned as she could feel her nose taking a hit, the nausea making her want to throw up. On top of that, it gave her flashbacks to playing basketball in school, and that was just _mean_.

Traumatic childhood memories aside, she wasn’t disoriented, so there was that. As Darcy began to sit up, she heard Nicholas slipping out through a shattered window on the passenger side; some of the shards tinkling down the seat. Darcy had just lifted her head up to see him surrounded on all fronts when the gunshots started. When she saw him feint to the left and fire back, she had to duck her head down, gripping her hair tightly in her fingers. She had never hated a nail polish before, but that glint of blood-red nails made her want to throw up. The gunshots didn’t help any.

 

The shootout couldn’t have lasted more than 90 seconds, but with her heart in her throat the whole time; it felt like 2 hours. Darcy got her feat to work, her need to see Nicholas alive and well overcoming fear-induced paralysis. The mangled car door was a bit stuck, but she got it open. Maybe the yelling helped, but there was no way she could ever be certain of that.

 

The sight she got out to wasn’t pretty. Nick was heaving for breath in the middle of the road, 11 dead men around him. 3 of them had wounds in their stomach, the blood still running out even though their hearts had long since stopped beating. 6 had read chests, a pool formed around their body like a sick, misshapen snow-angel. The last 2 were the closest to Nicholas, one clean shot in each forehead, nearly no visible blood. There was pink tissue and white fragments scattered in red to their side though, the visuals making Darcy wretch into the ditch beside the road. She had seen far too much brain matter for a political scientist, thank you very much.

 

Shakily she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, ignoring the bile covering her wedding band. Her jeans were stained red, but she wasn’t sure where the blood came from. Her head did feel fussy, so it could be that. Darcy looked up from the vomit just in time to see Captain America and the Falcon enter the scene, quick eyes scanning for any survivors or civilians.

“Dee?” Nicholas asked, slowly making his way towards her. “You okay?” His voice was completely calm, and it was just as comforting now as it had been when that pregnancy test had shown two sticks. What was less comforting was the bullet in his shoulder and the subsequent blood.

 

“Yeah, I’m – I’m fine,” Darcy turned towards him and threw her arms around his neck, careful not to jostle his right shoulder.

“Sure?” He asked, moving them closer to the Captain and the Falcon, left hand on her lower back. A sleek, black car pulled up just as Darcy pulled away from Nicholas, though not even a zombie apocalypse could have convinced her to let go of his hand. Uhm, knock on wood and all that. (You would err on the side of caution if you’d had the life she had too, okay. Shut up.)

“Yeah, I’m sure. Just wondering if I should be cosplaying India-era Jason Bourne or…”

“Personally I feel like you would be better off with the Germany-era. We can have matching coats.”

“Did I just hear Director Fury say something about matching coats?”

“Do not question the power of love, Clinton.”

“Natalia, if you would be so kind as to speak somewhat informally, as you are freaking me the fuck out.”

“Can someone tell me why I’m not in bed having sex with Captain America?”

“Dude, you and me both,”

“Darcy…”

“What? You would totally be there too!”

“Does _Captain America_ get a say in this?”

“You saying you wouldn’t do it?”

“Miss Lewis, let’s just kill a few Hydra-agents, and we’ll deal with a potential swingers-party later.”

“How do you know what _swinging_ is?”

“Do not underestimate the power of love, Clinton.”

“Plus, when Google and love team up? You _do not_ want to stand in their way, just sayin’.”

“Captain Rogers, turn down the sass and get me to a fucking hospital, or have you all forgotten about the goddamn bullet in my shoulder?”

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own these characters. I do not own Marvel. I do not receive any payment for doing this. I do however, sound like a human typewriter. Or Bart Simpson. You decide :)


End file.
